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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708214">Heartstrings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric'>hopeless_eccentric</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [43]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Music Major Peter Nureyev, Other, Prompt Fic, The Poor Sucker Who Lives Below His Practice Room Juno Steel, This was a joy to write, canon typical nureyev's shitty sleep schedule</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:27:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Juno Steel was decidedly not emptying his life savings to know anything more than he had to about violin music. The asshole in the practice room a floor above seemed to have different intentions for him.</p><p>As far as Juno cared, a piano meant an instrument he could kind of play Chopsticks on, a bow was a shitty decoration for the back of a dress, and a forte was a certain skill. That last definition was one he had to forcibly relearn. It seemed a forte was less of a particular strength and more of the reason he was awake at four in the goddamn morning.</p><p>Comm for @limegreenjig on tumblr!! ilysm dude</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [43]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heartstrings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>GUYS THIS ONE FUCKS I PROMISE</p><p>Content warning for food mention</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Juno Steel was decidedly not emptying his life savings to know anything more than he had to about violin music. The asshole in the practice room a floor above seemed to have different intentions for him.</p><p>As far as Juno cared, a piano meant an instrument he could kind of play Chopsticks on, a bow was a shitty decoration for the back of a dress, and a forte was a certain skill. That last definition was one he had to forcibly relearn. It seemed a forte was less of a particular strength and more of the reason he was awake at four in the goddamn morning.</p><p>At the very least, the musician was marginally good at what they did. Their music was the kind of thing that might have tugged on his heartstrings if they were awake yet. However, his ire at music majors woke up far before his sentimentality, and as such, Juno decided then and there that the bane of his existence would forever be a faceless fiddler with a penchant for audibly picking the locks into practice rooms, apparently just for the sake of tormenting him.</p><p>Perhaps it all would have been a bit easier with a roommate who wasn’t too much of a ghost. However, with their side of the room empty more days than not, it seemed his one-sided war against that traitor to common decency and humane sleep schedules would have to be fought personally.</p><p>Retribution, of course, seemed better than confrontation. Juno would much rather scale the heights of whatever one-mattressed bunk bed the university had dole out and bang on the ceiling with a textbook until the asshole stopped than drag himself out of bed and have to face the guy head on. However, when a dent in the cover of one textbook began to make his wallet ache a little more than he was comfortable with, the better option seemed to lie elsewhere.</p><p>Unfortunately, those other options had a tendency of failing him one by one.</p><p>First came the bluetooth speaker. It hadn’t been too difficult to get it up there. Rita had been all too happy to lend him a trumpet case to sneak it in as an extra precaution, just in case anybody got a little too suspicious of him picking the lock. At the very least, that mutineer from basic manners had proven that the lock could be picked in the first place.</p><p>Juno was one of those people seldom punished for his hubris. That did not, however, mean that it never happened.</p><p>The speaker spent the first thirty minutes of the violinist’s morning practice session distinctly not working. By the time Juno managed to pry enough ceiling board aways that he could get a signal between the shitty speaker and his phone, he had almost given up altogether. However, the violinist took that exact moment to rehearse and re-rehearse the same two bars of his solo, giving Juno the distinct burst of spite he needed to keep pushing until he heard the faint screeching of bagpipe music from the other side of the floor.</p><p>He hadn’t counted on the violinist turning the speaker off.</p><p>He also hadn’t counted on the violinist laughing. Or that laugh being attractive.</p><p>Juno forced his mind onto a plan b. That seemed distinctly easier to think about than an asshole who thought it was remotely okay to torment him in more ways than one.</p><p>It was just his dumb luck that none of his other schemes ended up working. No matter how much Rita hacked the speaker not to turn off, or rather, to play a different bagpipe song every time the off button was pressed, neither she nor Juno could stand getting up at four in the morning to home-make their own revenge. The fact of the matter was that the violinist was not giving up, merely laughing off every attempt to disturb his practicing with that soft, low voice that did an embarrassing amount of things to Juno.</p><p>As much as he didn’t want to take the matter on directly, there were only so many four hours of sleep days a guy could bear.</p><p>When he finally cracked, Juno didn’t even care to replace his bunny slippers with something a little more intimidating. He was pretty sure he’d come to know this particular violin solo even better than the asshole putting him through it, finding himself whistling it while studying and having to figure out the piece’s name just to wrench it out of his head kicking and screaming.</p><p>Juno’s fist slammed on the door a little louder than it should have. He would have felt a little bit of pity for the nearest rooms if he hadn’t been all too aware that with the practice rooms on the top story of the building, sound only really traveled down through the floors.</p><p>The violin stopped, and just for a moment, Juno remembered what his life had been like in its absence. Even the air felt a little fresher in his lungs with that stringed abomination temporarily silenced.</p><p>Before he could get too comfortable, the occupant of the room spoke.</p><p>“My sincerest apologies if I was bothering you,” he started from the other side of the door.</p><p>Of course he just happened to have an attractive voice. Just Juno’s luck.</p><p>“If?” Juno managed to sputter. “It’s four in the goddamn morning.”</p><p>“Oh, is it already?” He mused, pausing to likely check his phone for the time. “I only meant to practice some short while before taking my rest.”</p><p>“Wait, what the hell do you mean ‘before?’”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll be seeing myself out if I’m disturbing you,” the violinist continued, his words accompanied by the distinct sounds of stuffing a folder away.</p><p>“I’m not done with you,” Juno pressed, opening his mouth to continue until the door flew open with a gust of air and flying pieces of sheet music.</p><p>Juno was too proud to admit to gasping, but it did take him a moment or two longer than it should have to pick his jaw up off the floor.</p><p>Of course the violinist just had to be hot. If that wasn’t bad enough, he also happened to be the guy on the other end of Juno’s stats class that made the lessons so damn hard to focus on.</p><p>Most of the time, Peter Nureyev was dressed to the nines, eyes sharp with focus and clever fingers wrapped around his coffee as Juno felt the lesson go in one smitten ear and out the other. He was the kind of guy who looked unnervingly put together, as much as Juno had desperately wanted to suspect he had a flaw or two about him.</p><p>A flaw or two was, perhaps, an understatement. The current vision in the doorway had enough of his makeup removed to reveal darker circles than Juno would have ever guessed, while the half-spilled filing folder he carried was pressed against a sweatshirt for an entirely different college. Meanwhile, the easy confidence he usually wore seemed to be just as rubbed off as his makeup, for with his papers flying around and his feet frozen to the spot, he wore a mirrored deer-in-headlights kind of look that Juno didn’t think was ever warranted in his direction.</p><p>And yet, he still managed to wear sharp eyes and a sharp jaw and an even sharper smile like his face had been personally crafted to torment Juno Steel.</p><p>“Juno,” Nureyev began, trying his damndest to replace the nerves in his voice with surprise.</p><p>“You know my name?” Juno certainly did not sputter.</p><p>“It’s a small class,” Nureyev chuckled, “and some of us don’t sleep through attendance.”</p><p>“Look, a lady’s gotta get his beauty sleep somehow,” Juno huffed. “I’ve been trading half my hours for nonconsensual intro to violin.”</p><p>Nureyev cringed, finally managing to tear his eyes from Juno’s lips for long enough to take a look at the sheet music he had dropped.</p><p>“Once again, you have my sincerest apologies for keeping you awake.”</p><p>“Are you like—” Juno broke off to try and find the kindest way to finish his sentence, “okay?”</p><p>“Beg pardon?”</p><p>“How much sleep are you getting?”</p><p>“I don’t see how that’s of any matter to you at all,” Nureyev huffed.</p><p>“Well maybe if you slept more, I would too,” Juno snorted. “I mean, I’m not saying you can’t ever play, but Christ, pick a better time of day.”</p><p>Nureyev nodded thoughtfully as he stooped for the paper on the ground. However, whatever stupid sensation had bloomed at the sound of Nureyev’s laughter earlier that week betrayed Juno’s better interests again when it forced him down to the floor to retreive the sheet music and press it into Nureyev’s hands. He most certainly did not feel his heart skip a beat when their hands brushed.</p><p>“Thank you,” Nureyev swallowed. “For the intervention, I mean. I have missed mornings.”</p><p>“You’ll find something to do with them.”</p><p>“I haven’t taken anyone to coffee in quite some time,” Nureyev smiled, sharp and sweet as the sting of his violin at more pleasant hours of the day.</p><p>“Like you’re gonna be able to pry yourself out of bed before eleven,” Juno teased.</p><p>Nureyev glared.</p><p>“Touche,” he finally conceded. “Lunch, perhaps? I’m free tomorrow after statistics if you would have me—that is, if you ever wish to see my face again.”</p><p>“Just promise me you’ll start—y’know—picking up a non-vampire sleeping schedule, alright? I don’t know how much more of this Panini guy I can take.”</p><p>“Paganini—”</p><p>“Lunch sounds great,” Juno cut him off. “Look, Nureyev, I think we got off on a worse foot than we should’ve. Second chances and whatever, y’know?”</p><p>The fact of the matter was that some stupid part of Juno was all too willing to give Nureyev a thousand second chances, even if he started playing his violin at three instead. However, Juno’s distaste for that particular part of him crumbled the moment Nureyev smiled as if he had been offered a bouquet of roses, rather than the promise of a quasi-date over limp lettuce salads to make up for their unfortunate introduction.</p><p>“I think that sounds marvelous,” he grinned. “Though I must ask before you go—I assume you’ll be wanting to catch up on sleep—were you behind the bagpipes, by any chance?”</p><p>Juno swallowed.</p><p>“And what if I was?”</p><p>Nureyev laughed, somehow even nicer in person than it was through the ceiling.</p><p>“Good night, Juno,” he shook his head, still chuckling. “I mean it. I’m leaving to take my rest. If you need any evidence, you’ll be hearing no more violin before two this afternoon.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Juno snorted.</p><p>“I’ll see you at lunch,” Nureyev did his best to stifle a glare that was almost affectionate.</p><p>If Juno had been a little less exhausted, he might have tried to prolong their farewells. The fact of the matter was that Nureyev was frustratingly easy to get along with, not to mention the slew of physical attributes Juno didn’t want to think about. However, the weight of lost sleep dragged on his every step back to the elevator, so he could rest easy knowing he made the right decision in leaving when he did.</p><p>He dragged himself back to his dorm, fixed the ceiling tiles, and having killed two birds with one stone, crashed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>YEEHAW</p><p>Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill make fiddler on the roof a true life movie about me fiddling on your rooves</p><p>Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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